


before the sun comes up

by gauras



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, also not overtly romantic but it was written w romantic intent if that makes sense, episode 98 spoilers, everyone else in tm9 features here but they're not the focus, not a fix-it but moving towards one, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauras/pseuds/gauras
Summary: Caleb takes it all in without really seeing it, numbly drifting down to step onto the ship’s railing, then deck, eyes focused on the mangled shape of Fjord, crumpled into a heap after that creature had dropped him, limp upon the ground.Gods, no.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	before the sun comes up

**Author's Note:**

> that ep, huh.
> 
> this fic contains some kinda intense depictions of a corpse (i'm a weenie and don't think it's too graphic, but i figure it's better to be safe than sorry), the aftermath of violence, and impromptu post-mortem crystal removal (pretty tame imo, but again, pls b careful if that could upset u). it's kind of a lot and i'm? sorry for that.. i haven't written angst in ages and was, well, enjoying myself
> 
> i've never witnessed a rez ritual, and didn't feel comfortable writing one, so we don't quite make it all the way there in this! regardless, i hope u enjoy piling more on to the hurt!
> 
> title from the outcall's [skip to sunrise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xig8rdz4PSs) (cw for strobing/flashing lights)

The wreckage of the battle—no,  _ ambush— _ sprawls across the deck of the  _ Ball Eater: _ burns of radiant energy are seared into the wooden paneling, sprays of translucent, gelatinous viscera smear themselves across the railings, and blood, so much blood, lurid and vivid and turning pink as it mixes with rainwater, drips down the sides of the ship.

Caleb takes it all in without really seeing it, numbly drifting down to step onto the ship’s railing, then deck, eyes focused on the mangled shape of Fjord, crumpled into a heap after that creature had dropped him, limp upon the ground.

_ Gods, no. _

Jester and Caduceus are scrambling towards Fjord from opposite sides of the deck, bare feet slipping on the gut-slick wood. Beauregard has already reached him, bent over his still form, and Caleb can see the way her hands shake as she cups his face, tilting his head in a desperate search for any sign of life. Caleb knows it’s useless. A salty, fishy stench rises in the air; torn entrails spilling their putrefying contents in graceless death.

Another step and Caleb’s knees wobble.

Jester drops to her knees next to Beauregard, one hand going to her back as she takes in the damage to Fjord’s chest, the other fluttering in panic.

Yasha and Veth reach them as Caleb does. Up close, the scene is so much worse, and nausea churns in Caleb’s stomach when the thick tang of blood hits the back of his throat. Slashes and bruises and deliberate  _ digging _ all cut into Fjord’s bo—into Fjord.

“They were after something, I think it was the balls, did you see how they kept going for—” Jester’s voice breaks and her babbling cuts off as they all stare down at the ruined carnage that is their friend’s body.

“They’ll be back,” Caduceus agrees, a simmering rage belaying his usual calm, “This isn’t over, and I think we have to do something about the orbs  _ now.” _

“Like,” Yasha speaks up and she makes a cutting motion with her hands, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Caduceus rumbles, “exactly like that. Now is our best chance. It won’t hurt him.”

It’s difficult to breathe. Caleb swallows thickly. He cannot look away from the gory scene splayed out in front of him. He shouldn’t be able to see  _ inside _ his friend’s chest, ribs broken from the creatures’ relentless assault, plunged into again and again by steel and tooth alike.

“Oh man,” Jester breathes, “oh man, oh man you guys, what about Orly?”

“We can still help him. I can start here, you go do Orly,” Caduceus directs, firm but not unkind. Jester nods, her normally gently purple cheeks washed pale and bloodless as she stumbles to her feet.

“I’ll help you,” Yasha murmurs, taking Jester’s hand to steady her as the ship rocks upon the waves.

“Okay,” Caduceus says as the two move to tend to Orly, “does anyone have a knife?” He folds himself down opposite Beauregard, and Veth wordlessly offers her Dagger of Denial. Caleb is struck by the memory of her small, then-goblin hand folding Fjord’s fingers around its hilt the day after he’d freed himself of this mess, and the image superimposes itself over the sight of Fjord’s blood staining sun-bleached wood. Caduceus takes it, then breathes deep to steady himself.

“Wait.” Beauregard’s hand snaps out to grab Caduceus’ wrist. Her eyes are red, haunted, and loose wisps of her hair are plastered against her forehead. “Isn’t there a fuckin’—time limit, on bringing him back?”

“There is,” Caduceus says, gently, “it’ll be alright. There’s more than one way to bring back the dead.”

Beauregard scoffs as more tears well up. She releases Caduceus. “Have at him, then.” There is no mirth to her voice. It is brittle, fracturing. Caleb finally remembers how to move his body, how his limbs operate and take up space, and he slumps down next to her, hand on her shoulder.

Here, he can see Fjord’s once-shining eyes are open. Dull, now. He wishes he’d stayed standing.

“Do you want to help Jester?” Caleb asks Beauregard, tearing his attention away from that blank, slit-pupiled stare. She blinks at him, nostrils flaring, even as more tears slide their way down her cheeks. She shakes her head.

“Nah. I wanna be here. For him.”

“Okay.” He turns to Caduceus. “How can we assist you?”

The four of them work together to straighten out Fjord’s cooling limbs, already stiffening under the rain’s deluge. Caleb ends up by his head, and he gently closes his eyes, rubs away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. It looks as though he cut his lip on one of the lopsided tusks that gave him such a charming, carefree air. There’s a scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise swelling around it; so much violence they were helpless to stop.

Caduceus leans over Fjord, dagger held in his hand. It shakes, barely perceptible, and Caleb zeroes in on that small detail, the fine tremor that rocks through their stalwart cleric.

“Okay,” Caduceus says, quietly, to himself, and he shuts his eyes in what must be a brief prayer to the Wildmother. He opens his eyes and turns to Caleb and Beauregard, horizontal pupils impossible to read, but his ears twitch in agitation. “Where did he put them?”

Caleb reaches out to guide Caduceus to the center of Fjord’s sternum, an inch or two above where the creatures had been digging, right between his pectoral muscles. The skin is cold, slick with rainwater and blood.  _ So much blood. _

“Here, I think.” Beauregard nods her agreement, and neither she nor Caduceus say anything about the way Caleb’s voice wavers.

It’s horrible work. Caleb wants to turn away, but he cannot, and he feels Beauregard tense in much the same way. The blood is thicker now, congealing within Fjord’s veins as his body heat dissipates, leaving them all frozen and soaked and seeing far deeper into him than any of them ever wanted.

It takes time. For all Caduceus’ assurances that whatever they do now with Fjord will not matter in the end, he cuts through muscle and sinew with great, reverential care. Jester and Yasha return after having helped Orly down to his bed and Beauregard scoots over to make room for them. Somberly, they settle in to lend support, and Jester offers Caduceus advice on how to proceed when he falters. It’s a morbid, macabre intimacy between all of them, seated around their fallen friend in a ragged, exhausted, bloodied circle.

When Caduceus hits the first of the crystals, the air around them goes still. The rain still drums steadily atop their heads, but it feels distant. Muted. Gingerly, he reaches in and pries the wretched, cursed thing from its hiding place. It comes free with a dull sucking sound, and the crack down the center glares at them all balefully.

Irrationally, Caleb wants to throw it into the ocean. Perhaps set it alight.

Instead, Veth fetches the Bag of Holding from the captain’s cabin to stow it in. She returns quickly, looking ill. “There was blood. On the bed,” she explains as she holds the bag open for Caduceus. They all exchange uneasy glances and Caleb looks down at Fjord and the mess of his torso, exacerbated by Caduceus’ ministrations. The panic, the terror he must have felt… The clang of the bell in his memory vibrates through his bones as he shudders.

Was his first thought to call out for his friends?

How long it had taken them to respond, trapped in the close quarters below deck.

If they had been  _ faster, _ more  _ coordinated— _

“We go deeper,” Caduceus mutters and Jester leans forward to touch the back of his hand, bloodied black in the rainy night gloom. No joke accompanies the spell, but Caduceus inclines his head in thanks.

He finds the second one faster and drops it, still bloody, into the bag with an air of great contempt. As it disappears, everyone seems to sag as they release a collective breath.

“Now what?” Veth asks. Her fingers rub at the hem of Fjord’s sleep pants.

“Now we bring him back.” Caduceus wipes the dagger on the back of his hand, his short, fuzzy fur matted, and offers it back to Veth. She takes it, with apparent reluctance. “This sort of thing goes… smoother, if we help guide him back.”

“How?” Beauregard stares down at Fjord, her fingers tangled in his, knuckles split from her desperate attacks against the thing that killed him. “What do we do—tell his fucking  _ corpse _ that he was one of your first friends, or the first person to not just write you off as a bitch? That he’s your captain and—workout buddy, and that he’s a fucking bastard if he thinks he can just _ leave?” _ She swallows, hard, then sniffs and wipes her eyes.

“That’s exactly it. The bonds we’ve formed… If he’s willing, he’ll come back to us.” Caduceus traces a slow circle into Fjord’s palm, then the shape of a crook, some squiggles probably meant to be a wreath of seaweed. “He’ll come back.”

Jester sits between Beauregard and Caleb, and her wide eyes fill with tears as they all instinctively turn to her to begin the ritual. She shakes her head, hair catching on the curve of her horns. Beauregard offers her other hand to hold and Jester takes it. “Caleb, you go first.”

Caleb averts his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. He lets himself stroke Fjord’s hair lightly, smooths that streak of silver and grey out of his eyes. He fits both palms to either side of Fjord’s face: one scarred, one not. He thinks of  _ we’ll make it work _ and _ I hope you learn to trust me, in time _ and _ always _ and  _ let me come to you _ and  _ I’m becoming comfortable with the idea of failing _ and  _ with you. _ He thinks of their conversation yesterday, not even twenty-four hours old.

“We were becoming better,” Caleb murmurs, then leans down to kiss his forehead, “together.” His lips brush Fjord’s cold skin. “Come back. You’re not done.  _ We’re _ not done.”

It’s a promise, a plea, and Caleb pets Fjord’s cheeks with his fingertips as he pulls back. Without looking up, he inclines his head towards Yasha to invite her to continue the ritual. She clears her throat and Caleb stares down at Fjord’s still, quiet face, and for the first time in a very long time, prays.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [@chitalpas](https://twitter.com/chitalpas) and all that
> 
> <3 thank u! for reading! <3


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